The Seduction of an Earl Read online

  Already twenty-one, and with one best friend married and, in Charlotte’s case, another almost so, Hannah had decided she would have to be settled before summer or die of boredom. She could only hope this Season would present some better prospects.

  Moving to the parlor door but making sure she stayed within its walls, Hannah listened intently. The man had apparently asked to see her father. A sense of disappointment settled over her, and she wondered at her reaction. The Season had only just begun. There had only been two balls and a musicale. Why would she expect a gentleman caller already?

  Perhaps it was Elizabeth’s visit, she decided. Lady Bostwick was so happy in her marriage to George Bennett-Jones. She’d spent most of her visit espousing the virtues of having an attentive husband – a man she had thought was a cit until Elizabeth’s father, the Marquess of Morganfield, set her straight and informed her he was a viscount. That was the day back in October when Elizabeth became engaged to George. They were married so quickly, the ton had gossiped for nearly a week. And Elizabeth was already with child. In another three months, she would give birth!

  A stab of jealousy caught Hannah by surprise. Oh, to be with child! She thought it rather unfair that one had to have a husband before one could have a baby. At least, in the legitimate sense. As much as she could imagine herself with a babe, she could do so knowing she would have the help and resources required to rear a child. She couldn’t imagine being a poor, unmarried woman with a child.

  Sighing, Hannah moved back to a chair near the fireplace. Her abandoned needlework lay on the chair cushion, and her dog, Harold MacDuff, lay napping on the floor directly in front of the chair. Rather than insist he lift his huge body and move it so that she could retake her seat, Hannah directed her attention to the piano-forté. Music would do her spirits some good, she decided. Rifling through the sheets of music she’d picked out at Birchall’s the week before, she pulled out a few and began to play.

  So engrossed was she in studying the music she played, Hannah was unaware of the visitor who stood on the threshold of the parlor. It wasn’t until she completed a selection by Bach and was moving a new sheet of music into place that she noticed her father’s caller. “Oh!” she managed as a hand went to the top of her bosom.

  “Brava, my lady.” Henry bowed deeply, not wanting to take his eyes off the beauty at the piano-forté. He did so to complete the courtesy. Then he had to force himself to breathe. Lady Hannah was far more beautiful up close than she had appeared in the garden the night before. The pink muslin gown she wore complemented her skin as well as her figure, the bodice fitted enough to display the fullness of her breasts. With her slender arms and long fingers uncovered, it was apparent to Henry she had long since left the schoolroom. Twenty, perhaps, he thought as he allowed his gaze to rest on her face. Had Devonville mentioned her age? If so, he couldn’t remember. His brain was suddenly a bit addled.

  Hannah stood up from the piano bench and curtsied. Where is Harold? And why hadn’t he warned her there was a man awaiting her attention? She dared a quick glance at the fireplace and saw that the hairy beast still napped in front of her chair. Some guard dog you are, she thought with a bit of annoyance. As if reading her thoughts, Harold opened one eye for a moment before yawning and closing it again. “Thank you, my lord. I’m afraid it’s the first time I’ve played that piece ...”

  “And yet you played it perfectly. Bach himself would have to agree, I’m sure,” Henry stated with a nod as he moved toward her. He stopped directly in front of her and reached for her hand. Lifting it, he brushed his lips over the back of the knuckles. Even her hands are beautiful, he thought as he held the one a bit longer than propriety would allow. “Henry Forster, Earl of Gisborn,” he said by way of introduction.

  Hannah blushed, the pink spreading over her cheeks in an instant. “You are too kind,” she answered, daring to return the man’s gaze. Gisborn? That made no sense. The Earl of Gisborn was an old fart of an earl. A wrinkled, disagreeable, mean old man. So old he was ... dead, she suddenly realized.

  And this man was his heir.

  Henry Forster. She recognized the name, but the man who stood before her was not someone to whom she had been introduced at a ball or musicale. Lady Charlotte had spoken of him. She knew him from her youth. Nearby estates, or some such. “And I am Lady Hannah Slater,” she stated, shaking herself from her brief reverie. “I am pleased to make your acquaintance.” Her mind raced. Had he only come to the parlor because of the music? He’d called on her father. Their business must be complete. “Would you care to join me for tea?” she wondered, a bit surprised she would invite him, but if she did not, she was afraid he would take his leave of Devonville House, and she’d never see him again.

  Stunned at the invitation – he was alone with her in the parlor, with not a footman nor a maid in sight to act as chaperone – Henry cocked his head to one side. He wasn’t about to question his good luck. “I would be honored,” he replied with a nod.

  Hannah dipped her head in return and moved to the bell pull. “I thought perhaps I would have had another morning caller by now, so it shan’t be long.”

  Henry remembered what the marquess had said about her earlier caller being her ‘other best friend.’

  “Won’t you take a seat?” she offered, waving to the only chair her father would sit in when he was in the parlor.

  Hannah made sure to sit in an adjacent chair with a low table in front. She watched as Henry took the proffered chair. He seemed nervous, as if it was the first time he was alone in a room with a lady. “Did you have business with my father?” she asked, not sure how else to start the conversation.

  Henry considered the question. “Something like that. I find him quite ... agreeable,” he offered, daring to look at her as he made the assessment.

  About to respond, Hannah waved toward the parlor door. A maid rolled the tea cart into the room, her eyes widening a bit at the sight of her mistress with a man and apparently no other servant in the room. She placed the silver tray with the pot and cups on the low table in front of Hannah along with a plate of lemon biscuits. “Did you by chance bring a biscuit for the dog?” Hannah wondered, hoping the mention of the hairy beast would put to rest any qualms the maid might have at leaving Hannah alone with the visitor.

  “Aye, milady,” the maid replied, her voice sounding ever so relieved at the mention of the dog. She placed a plate with an odd looking brown shape onto the table next to the biscuits.

  “Thank you. That will be all,” Hannah said by way of dismissal. Turning to the earl, she asked, “How do you take your tea, my lord?” as she lifted a cup and saucer.

  “Gisborn,” Henry stated emphatically. At Hannah’s widened eyes, he wondered if he had erred in insisting she use his name so soon after their introduction. “No sugar, a bit of cream,” he added. He dared a glance in the dog’s direction. “Will Harold be joining us, milady?”

  Hannah was pouring the cream and did not see the glint in Henry’s eye as he asked about the dog. She wondered how he knew her pet’s name. Did Father talk about Harold with him? She lifted her gaze to his as she handed him the tea. “I’m sure he would love to, that is, if you were not asking in jest.”

  Henry smiled. “I was not,” he answered with a shake of his head. “Unless I have taken his chair, in which case I should like the opportunity to move to another before we invite him.”

  Smiling at his joke, Hannah turned her attention on her pet. “Would you like a biscuit, Harold?”

  The Alpenmastiff raised his head in surprise. A very small but deep ‘woof’ erupted before the beast raised his entire body off the floor, a move that seemed to take a great deal of effort and at least two or three whines before he lumbered over to Hannah’s side. He appeared to notice Henry for the first time, but, not sensing any danger to his mistress, he pulled his haunches under him and sat up as straight as his bulk would allow.

  “May I?” Henry asked as he pointed toward the dog’s treat.

>   Hannah regarded her guest with a bit of uncertainty. “I ... I suppose.”

  Lifting the biscuit from the plate, Henry rose from the chair and walked over to the dog. Standing directly in front of Harold, he allowed his eyes to make contact with the dog’s. They were large, brown eyes, rather expressive despite the overall look of boredom the rest of Harold’s expression seemed to convey. His huge black nose was surrounded by a white snout that featured a collection of black freckles. The rest of his massive head was covered in brown fur which extended to a white band of fur around his entire neck. The rest of his body seemed covered in the brown fur, except his front legs, which were quite white, as if the dog had been recently bathed. Henry wondered if there was a copper tub anywhere in London large enough to accommodate such a huge beast.

  Henry lowered the biscuit until it rested on top of the dog’s rather wide snout. Harold stared at him with lazy eyes, as if he’d done the trick a thousand times and was bored by it. Henry returned to his chair and sat down. “Now, Harold!” he commanded. Harold dutifully tossed the biscuit into the air with an upward shake of his nose and caught the treat in his mouth as it came down. For a few seconds, a crunching sound emanated from the animal.

  Hannah’s mouth dropped open before one of her hands could cover it. “How did you ... how did he know how to do that?” she asked in surprise. “I ... I didn’t know he knew that trick!” She stared at Henry for several seconds. “I haven’t taught him how to do it!”

  Fighting the urge to laugh at her expense, Henry shook his head. “I think your father might be the guilty one, my lady,” he said in an apologetic tone.

  The pink flush that colored Hannah’s face nearly matched her gown. “I cannot believe he would keep that from me,” she murmured, feeling a bit indignant. She glanced up to find the earl watching her, his head cocked to one side. He was a very handsome man, she decided. Broad of shoulder, tall, with a full head of dark hair that could almost be black, and eyes that were so blue, she almost dared not look at him directly.

  “It is just a parlor trick. Your Harold,” he nodded his head toward the dog and was not surprised to find the beast watching him intently, “Is quite a majestic dog. Perhaps he could join us on a ride in the park. ’Tis a beautiful day for it.” In truth, it was a bit chilly, but the sun was finally burning off the early morning fog, and the sky would be clear soon.

  A frisson passed through Hannah – just the thought of riding in the park with this very handsome man made her belly flip and her heart begin to race. “I ... I would have to ask my father, of course, but ... I would be delighted.” Even if the earl wasn’t handsome, she would have welcomed the opportunity to get out of the house. A ride in the park seemed just the thing.

  “Have I heard my name, perhaps?” the Marquess of Devonville asked from the threshold. He seemed rather pleased by what he saw, but Henry placed his cup on the table and stood up at the man’s comment, hoping the marquess didn’t find the tableau he was witnessing too inappropriate. Here he was, sitting very close to the man’s daughter, and next to her was the family dog with his tongue hanging to one side and a bit of slobber about to drip off it. Henry bowed to the marquess.

  “Sit, sit,” Devonville insisted as he moved into the room.

  “Good morning, Father,” Hannah said by way of greeting, tilting one cheek up so her father could kiss it. The marquess gave Harold a pat on the head and moved to sit in a chair opposite Henry. Hannah was already pouring tea and cream for him.

  “If you’d like to take my daughter for a ride in Hyde Park, you’re welcome to take my phaeton, Gisborn,” he offered as he took the teacup from Hannah. “I’ve got a groom seeing to it now. Of course, there really isn’t room for Harold, but I trust you’ll get her home in one piece.”

  Working hard to hide his astonishment, Henry nodded. “That is very gracious of you. I was just asking her ladyship if she would join me for a ride.”

  Hannah was sure her face was bright red. Her father had never offered such liberties to her other suitors. Nor had he ever offered his high perch phaeton!

  “Henry here is the new Earl of Gisborn,” the marquess said, directing his comment to Hannah. “And the new owner of Ellsworth Park,” he added, a bushy eyebrow cocked in a manner that suggested his daughter should be impressed. “Seems Lady Charlotte will be marrying her duke any day now.”

  Her mouth opening in astonishment, Hannah quickly changed her expression to one of delight. “I am so happy for her,” she said, the sound of relief in her voice. “She has wanted no other than Joshua Wainwright since she was sixteen!”

  Fighting back the urge to wince at her comment, Henry merely nodded. “I just came from Wisborough Oaks late yesterday,” he said as lightly as he could manage. “Lady Charlotte is already settled, and has taken on the responsibility of overseeing the decoration of the rebuilt portion of the estate,” he added in a tone of voice that was all business. “I believe she has already become Wainwright’s chatelaine.” His words were obviously important to Lady Hannah, though, as her face brightened and she gave him a smile that was so glorious, he wanted nothing more than to repeat whatever word it was that made her so happy.

  “Did you have occasion to speak with Lady Charlotte?” Hannah wondered, leaning forward as she made the query.

  Henry nodded, keeping his eyes on hers in order to avoid the urge to stare at her suddenly more apparent décolletage. He hadn’t noticed that last night as she cavorted with Harold in the park. “Yes, I ... “ He paused, realizing he couldn’t tell her he’d been there to claim Lady Charlotte as his wife. “I had business there with the duke,” he amended quickly. “But I made Lady Charlotte’s acquaintance many years ago. The estate I just ... acquired belonged to her father. It sits directly to the west of the Gisborn earldom,” he explained, hoping he wasn’t boring the poor girl.

  “If you have acquired the estate, Gisborn, you must have plans for the land,” she supposed, hoping her barely hidden query wasn’t too personal. She only meant to keep up her end of the conversation.

  Hearing his name spoken in her voice made something shiver deep inside Henry. Gisborn. She had said it as if she was put on the earth for the sole purpose of speaking that word. Henry gazed at her, remembering a bit too late that she had hinted he had plans for Ellsworth Park. “I ... I mean to add it to my existing farmlands and modernize the entire tract,” he finally got out, hoping he didn’t sound like a dullard.

  “And what will modernizing entail?” she countered, the tilt of her head suggesting she was truly interested in the topic. She refilled his teacup and followed it with a bit of cream.

  Henry watched her hands as she saw to his tea. She had elegant hands – smooth, pale hands with long, perfectly shaped fingers. He could imagine those fingers traveling over his body, gripping his shoulders as he kissed her senseless, teasing his manhood into hardened steel, digging into his back as he rode her during intercourse, the fingernails leaving little half-moon brands in his skin as he brought her to ecstasy.

  What the hell? Mentally pinching his swelling manhood, Henry swallowed. Hard.

  He dared a glance in Devonville’s direction. The marquess seemed quite interested in farm modernization, as well. “My lands border the River Isis. It’s my intention to have irrigation ditches dug on both ends of the land as well as down the middle, at right angles to the river, to allow the fields to be watered during dry times and drained in times of too much rain.” Pausing a moment to be sure his audience was still interested, he saw Lady Hannah’s brow furrow.

  “How, then, will you keep the river from flooding your fields when there is too much rain?” she wondered, her body barely perched on the edge of her chair. She was leaning forward again, apparently very interested in irrigation.

  The thought of river water spilling into the ditches he planned to have dug in the next few weeks was suddenly replaced with the thought of Hannah’s breasts spilling forth from her bodice and into his eager hands. He was sure one of th
em would fill a hand completely, perhaps even overflow the edges of his fingers and flood onto his ...

  Gates! he admonished himself. He had to think of gates. The gates of hell. And higher necklines.

  “At the points where the irrigation ditches and the river meet, there will be a sort of gate – a large, flat piece of iron with a rope attached that can be strung over a pulley. Then the gate can be raised and lowered between two guide tracks,” he explained, his hands motioning in the air as he described the devices, making sure to include the marquess in his explanation. “A sort of dam that can be put into place when no water is needed, and then lifted up when the ditch needs to be filled.”

  Hannah’s mouth opened as she listened to his explanation, understanding immediately how the system would work. “That’s brilliant! Did you come up with the idea yourself?”

  Henry couldn’t help but allow a grin at Hannah’s enthusiasm. “Thank you,” he murmured, nodding as he said so and suddenly feeling as if her assessment was the last bit of encouragement he needed to actually put the irrigation system into place. I could name the system the Gates of Hannah. “Some of it, yes. I like to design things to ... to solve problems,” he admitted. The Gates of Hannah. He found himself imagining Hannah, naked and atop his bed, her milky white thighs spreading apart, gates to the heaven that could be his as his manhood thrust into her warm, wet cocoon, flooding her with his seed ... Christ! We’re talking about farm modernization here, he chastised himself, shifting his position in the chair and lowering his teacup and saucer to better cover the evidence of his erection.